Four Things
by Sorciere
Summary: Sam spends a while at the NEST base - and brings back some souvenirs.


**Title:** Four Things Samuel Witwicky Brought With Him From Diego Garcia... and One That He Didn't

**Disclaimer:** Absolutely, positively not mine. Alas.

**Warnings**: Spoilers for RotF, but not the books or comics, most of which I haven't read and will cheerfully ignore. Slight AU from the very end of RotF. Also, Sam tends to ramble. A lot, at times.

**A/N:** Set in the same AU 'verse as Four Conversations, but it's not needed for background information and this can be read as a stand-alone just fine. Also, allow me to once more rec the absolutely awesome fic Instability by Steelfeathers, whose beautiful bunnies in that story provided inspiration for this little verse.

**A/N 2**: Re-uploaded to fix FFNets little 'run-on sentences gets deleted' gig that removed a line from this fic.

* * * *

1.

* * * *

The first thing Samuel James Witwicky brought back from Diego Garcia would have made his mom wash his mouth with soap if she had known about it.

Sam couldn't even claim it had been an accident. Ratchet was a walking encyclopedia of human curses when he was annoyed – which was frequently – and Sam wasn't going to believe for an instant that all the Cybertronian sounds he didn't understand were just technical stuff. The English parts, after all, had even the resident Marines listening attentively for new material. He almost understood the sounds on that level where the Allspark had been in his mind, and almost understanding and never really grasping it was enough to drive him slowly nuts.

Curiosity nagged him but he wasn't going to ask Optimus Prime for a translation, because it was _Optimus Prime_ and... no. Just... no.

Bee was the obvious choice but he had looked vaguely panicked when Sam had brought it up.

"_No chance, no way_," the radio had firmly let him know, and Bumblebee's empathic gestures would have gotten the point across, even if the radio hadn't.

"You're just scared of my mom," Sam muttered, and Bumblebee hadn't looked repentant in the least.

With his primary source of information unwilling to help at all, it didn't leave a lot of mechs that Sam could reasonably ask. He didn't know most of the newcomers, and he was scared of just what sort of things he would learn if he asked the Twins.

Ironhide was probably the only mech he was less willing to ask than Optimus, because Ironhide was _Ironhide_, four tons of grouchy, trigger-happy, cannon-toting destruction, and contrary to common belief, Sam did have some tiny sense of self-preservation.

Which left exactly one mech, and Sam dragged his feet for a week before he finally managed to hit a day with a reasonably low Ratchet-alert – which, he'd learned from the NEST team, meant no emergencies, no stupid injuries, no Twin-related incidents, and the stars aligning just right, for a start.

Really, Sam told himself as he tentatively knocked on the door to the infirmary, it wasn't a surprise that he was a bit... healthily wary. It was Ratchet. He was pretty sure the medic could make even Megatron shut up and obey orders if he really had to.

There was a gruff sound in reply that didn't sound like a dismissal and Sam stepped carefully inside to find Ratchet working on what looked like a complex bit of machinery of some sort. It looked important, too, although that was about the extent of Sam's knowledge.

"You busy?" he asked hesitantly. "I could..." A vague gesture aimed at the hallway he'd just come from, and Ratchet frowned slightly.

"Maintenance," he replied. "Easier to get done outside of emergencies. Do you feel unwell?"

Sam blinked and suddenly realised just what sort of impression he might have given the medic. "Oh. No, no, I'm fine, I'm good, all back to good ol' me again, no weirdo stuff in my brain or anything. I, uh, wanted to ask you something, and Bumblebee's too scared of my mom to want to help."

"Hmph." Ratchet didn't look impressed, and Sam pressed on.

"Nothing bad or anything, I mean, the Twins are bad enough with pranks and stuff, I just, uh." Deep breath, nothing to it, really, this was just _Ratchet_ and- "I was wondering if you could teach me Cybertronian curses."

Ratchet blinked, honest to Primus blinked, and didn't look like he quite believed what his audio receivers had just told him. "Teach you... Cybertronian curses?"

"You curse a lot in English, but you get these bits of Cybertronian sneaking in, and it's like I can _almost_ understand it because of all the stuff in my brain, but just almost, and it's driving me _nuts_." Another deep breath. "And I'm pretty sure some of the NEST guys know some of it, 'cause one of the times you snarled something like that about Ironhide, I swear Epps nearly died laughing."

Ratchet frowned. "You shouldn't learn terms like that. Your parental units would not approve."

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, that's what 'Bee figured, too."

Ratchet was silent for a moment and then Sam felt the distinct, faint tingle that always followed a scan. "I told you, I'm fine!" he objected. "The Allspark stuff isn't showing up again or anything, it's just... it's like I _know_ this stuff, but it's just out of reach and I can't remember it. I'm not freaking out again or anything, not like literally going nuts."

"Your scans do appear normal," Ratchet conceded and gave Sam a thoughtful look. "Cybertronian curses?"

"Hey, I'm Cybertronian now," Sam said, and grinned because past the initial shock, it was getting easier and easier to say that fact, and Ratchet didn't look entirely dismissive of the idea anymore. He figured he was going to end up missing his old passport at some point but right now, the sheer cool-factor of it all overshadowed that. "I should learn some of my new language, right? I know there's no chance at all that I could pronounce it, but I could at least learn to understand some."

Ratchet nodded slowly. "Interesting argument." Another pause, and Sam could have sworn there was a gleam in those blue optics that would have made anyone twitchy at the idea of _Ratchet_ being up to something, and then it was gone again. "I, of course, can endorse nothing of that sort, but perhaps I can find a Cybertronian language course for you. The desire to learn should be encouraged."

Sam nodded and tried to dig up a properly innocent look. "For my mental health, too. Keep my brain happy, right?"

"It would be unwise to risk upsetting your mind this soon after its encounter with the Allspark," Ratchet agreed, and this time the gleam in his optics was definitely there. "To remove the sort of stress it may be exposed to in remembering a language it no longer understands would be a prudent course of action."

And Samuel Witwicky grinned.

* * * *

2.

* * * *

The second thing Sam brought back with him from Diego Garcia hadn't been on purpose.

It had been pure chance that had let him discover what Will and Ironhide had going on, and when he put it that way to himself, it did sound kind of wrong. It _was_ wrong, for that matter, but not quite in the way his brain had first implied to him with that choice of words. Will was married, after all, and there was really no doubt that the scene Sam had stumbled upon was purely combat focused.

It also taught him – painfully – that the sight of six feet of human against twenty-two feet of alien robot was still enough to send shivers down his spine and made him shudder instinctively at memories he'd really rather forget. He knew it was just a game, just training, because the two beings in the middle of their fight were _friends_, but it was still Ironhide, and Ironhide, even two years down the line, still scared Sam.

It was close fighting, closer than what looked safe to Sam at all as Will grabbed something on Ironhide's foot and used the rubble on the training ground to change direction in a sharp slide without stopping, stabbing something between two pieces of plating and letting go again a split-second later. He hit the ground still in motion and slid several feet in the rubble and Sam winced in sympathy. It explained why Lennox wore a combat uniform even in that sort of heat, at least, even if Sam belatedly realised that to someone who had served in Qatar, maybe it wasn't that unbearably hot.

One massive hand came down like a cage around Will as Ironhide reacted faster than Sam would have thought possible for someone as bulky as that – and, he realised a second later, with an injured foot to boot - and the hard crack of concrete breaking under the force of the strike brought back echoes of nightmares of Megatron and Barricade, and Sam took a shuddering breath.

Friends. These were friends, and Will was safe.

A moment passed as Sam watched, and then Ironhide raised his hand again and Will slowly got back on his feet, brushing bits of rubble of off from his uniform as he did so, and Sam felt his own frantic heartbeat calm down again, too. It looked like they were done with whatever they had been up to, and Sam headed cautiously in their direction. He could have turned and left but curiosity was nagging him and he had never had a record of smart decisions. There was no reason to start now, then.

"-Two point five-two minutes," Sam heard the mech report as he came into range, and just like that Ironhide straightened and the injured foot was fixed. "Eighty-six percent loss of function in the targeted joints, enough to keep a ground-based mech from pursuing."

"...Could've done the same to your hand," Will gasped, and Sam wasn't sure if he was more surprised or unnerved to hear the soldier not just breathing hard but actually gasping for breath. He hadn't sounded that winded the few times Sam had been up early enough to meet him after morning workout.

"And I could have crushed you," Ironhide stated and turned his head slightly. "Witwicky."

Sam gave a small, wary wave. "...Hey. Did I interrupt anything? I could totally go find something else to do, Bumblebee could use a bath, and-"

Will made a dismissive gesture that Sam chose to interpret as 'No problem' and which was confirmed as Will got his breathing a bit more under control. "'S fine. Just training with 'Hide."

Sam looked at Ironhide and blinked, then noticed the miraculously-healed foot again. "So..."

"A program," the large mech said in response to Sam's unfinished question. "It imitates injuries sustained in battle."

Will held out a knife for Sam, who accepted it with just a bit of wariness. "I'm not really..." he trailed off as he got a closer look at it. "It's... rubber?" he asked, and Will nodded, still winded as he spoke.

"Sort of. Jury-rigged. 'Hide made it."

"The knife is connected to my program. Any injuries it would have caused as a proper weapon will manifest themselves through the program," Ironhide clarified. "Will targeted the main wires running through what a human would deem an ankle. As a result, the program made me lose use of that foot."

"Ratchet'd kill us if we showed up every week t'get fixed," Will added to finish the explanation.

Will Lennox, training with Ironhide, and there wasn't a human-sized gun in sight, just that rubber knife. "You mean this stuff is for... defending yourself again 'Cons? I mean, without a gun?" Because really, the idea sounded insane, but Will hadn't used a gun, and Ironhide hadn't really looked like he had been holding back, except for- "And what about your cannons? Couldn't you have...?" he trailed off and made a gesture that sort of mimicked shooting at Will.

"'N that order: Yes'n'no," Will responded and took another few moments to take a calming breath before he continued. "It's close combat Cybertron style adapted to humans, and cannons like 'Hide's would only be a problem if I stayed still enough to target. Which I learned not to do."

Sam blinked. It was a stretch, sure, but- "You mean we could kick Deceptiscum butt like that?"

"No." Two voice answered him in unison, one human and one Cybertronian, and Sam was about to ask what the heck the point was, then, when Will clarified.

"It buys you time," he said. "Time to get a weapon, or get away, or wait for the cavalry to get there. You're still going to lose sooner or later, but it'll buy you time."

"Two point five two minutes in this case," Ironhide stated. "Minutes that might not have been available otherwise."

"Definitely less against Sideswipe, if I ever gave it a try," Will admitted. "And Scorponok, if he was still running around. It's just that a lot of mechs aren't used to dealing with organics that don't have the common sense to just run."

It still sounded insane to Sam, but then, he'd always sort of suspected that you had to be a special type to sign up with NEST. Not that he didn't like the people he'd met there, and several even had families, too, but they were definitely not normal people by any stretch of imagination.

"So. Normal knives against a 'Con?" he asked, still dubious about the whole thing, and Will actually laughed at that.

"Slag no, they'd break immediately. Maybe you could cut a wire if you were lucky, but I doubt it. Sector Seven... had a few prototypes lying around. Stuff that could actually do some real damage with enough force behind it and if you targeted the weak spots. Nothing like Sideswipe's swords, but it works if you know what to target."

Which, knowing Ironhide, was exactly what he'd been teaching the Major... who, Sam's mind belated remembered, wasn't really a Major anymore, and he pushed that thought firmly aside as well, because he didn't _like_ to think about the fallout that had been caused by getting Optimus to Egypt, and the one time Sam had tried to bring it up so far, Will had gently told him to forget about it, that it was his job, that it was worth it, and Sam had tried not to think about the official-looking papers in Optimus' office, requesting an extradition that would never happen.

"Could you teach me?" he asked on a whim as his brain desperately tried to find something else to focus on, and the instant he realised what he has said, he almost wished he could take it back, because it was _Ironhide_ training Will, and-

"I thought you didn't like knives?" Will asked but it wasn't an accusation, more like curiosity.

And he didn't, not really, but- "Maybe I'll need it someday. I thought I could go back to a normal life after Mission City, and then this happened, and nobody has said as much yet, but they're not ever really going to stop looking for me, are they? Even with the Allspark out of my brain, I'm still the squishy who screwed things up for them, and no, I don't like weapons, but maybe it's time to learn so I can manage a little for myself and not count on everyone else to keep me safe."

Which was more than he had planned to tell them, but it had been nagging him for weeks now, and these two were soldiers and maybe they wouldn't sugarcoat things to protect him, and if nothing else, it felt so much better to finally get it out of his system.

Will and Ironhide exchanged a look, and then the human turned his attention back to Sam. "It's... a bit more complicated than that," he said carefully, like he was testing the waters. "If you want to be able to defend yourself against a 'Con, sabot rounds are the way to go."

"Your physical condition is insufficient for close combat training," Ironhide continued, with a lot less tact than Will. "A knowledge of human unarmed combat is also an advantage in the understanding of what your body is capable of. This is needed to learn the combat style you witnessed."

"Your body can handle more than you might think," Will explained, a bit gentler. "But you need to be able to override that voice that tells you that you're about to do something stupid. It will hurt, and you will get up, and you will have do it all over again, and every time your brain will remind you that you're not supposed to treat your body like that."

Like purposely letting yourself fall to slide on rubble and concrete and hope your uniform will be enough to spare you serious injuries, and no, NEST people were _not normal_.

Then again, neither was Sam.

"Then teach me that, too."

Another look between Will and Ironhide, and Sam could swear they were having a soundless discussion about him as the seconds stretched on, and he wouldn't even be surprised if they actually were, because their ability to almost finish each other's sentences was just a bit freaky.

"He's a target, 'Hide," Will finally said as they seemed to reach a conclusion. "He'll always be a target. He'll be protected but scrap happens. Scrap always happens."

Ironhide nodded slowly and blue optics narrowed at Sam and reminded him just why Ironhide was so intimidating. "You will participate in the NEST team's daily physical exercises. You will learn to be proficient with ranged weapons. If you have not changed your mind in two of your Earth months and Will gives his approval of your progress, I will agree to instruct you in this."

"All right." Sam nodded, and then repeated his words, a bit firmer and almost defiant because he wasn't a kid anymore, hadn't been a kid since Mission City, and he could slagging well handle this. "All right. I'll do it."

Ironhide looked almost approving, in an Ironhide sort of way, but it was definitely pride in Will's expression, and belatedly Sam realised just what he had just agreed to.

A moment later, he mentally shrugged and dismissed the thought. The worst he could do was fail miserably, and right now being able to fight back sounded like a really appealing option, and if he ended up being unable to hit a target at all...

Well. If nothing else, he'd definitely be able to run away from the 'Cons a lot faster in the future.

* * * *

3.

* * * *

The third thing Samuel Witwicky brought back from Diego Garcia came in direct relation to the second thing.

Sam and Mikaela had been placed in one of the small houses on the island rather than bunk with the NEST team, but they spent most of their time around the Autobots, and that was where Robert Epps found him later that day, too, a black bag slung over one shoulder and an amused expression on his face.

"Delivery from the bossman," he said by way of greeting and dumped the bag in Sam's arms. "PT uniform. You get yourself drafted, kid?"

He didn't know, Sam realised, which meant that Will probably hadn't told anyone else about their talk, and he blinked in surprise as he opened the bag and revealed the neatly-folded clothes inside. There was a lot of them, he noticed.

"Uh, no. I just- I mean, I mentioned to him that I was getting tired of, you know, running all the time and it might be nice to do something useful for a change, and he offered I could train with you guys. Like, workout and... guns."

Epps chuckled. "In that case, I'd say you just got suckered. PT's at zero seven hundred hours and there's no such things as weekends."

PT. Sam's mind was blank for a moment, and then it made the connection. _Physical training_. Do'h. Which meant that the bag... contained a lot more gym clothes than he'd ever owned in his life. And then, an instant later, it made a second connection. "... Zero seven hundred hours?" he asked warily, because he was starting to get slightly used to some military terms, but he couldn't be talking about-

"Seven in the morning," Epps confirmed, and Sam groaned.

"He didn't mention that part of it." Not that it would have made any difference, really, because he had already made up his mind, but it could have been nice to _know_ and let his brain get used to it, because there was no way the human body was meant for working out that early in the morning. No way.

"Told you. Suckered," Epps laughed, but he didn't look annoyed at the thought of Sam joining in, and that was always good. "There's a list in one of the pockets. Figured you might want to know what you signed up for, 'cause I doubt Will mentioned it."

"He didn't," Sam muttered, but the argument was half-hearted as he held up the T-shirt on top of the pile of clothes. Black. Just... black. Looked like his size, but- "Don't they usually have stuff written on them?" he asked, honestly curious. "Like 'Army' and stuff?"

Epps shrugged. "We're a bit of everything. I'm Air Force. Ain't no way I'm gonna walk around with 'Army' stuck on me, and NEST's supposed to be secret, so we went with blank shirts. Easier like that."

Which made sense, and Sam was pretty sure he'd seen at least one British flag on one of the NEST soldiers, so it wasn't even just American ones, either. Plain shirts with no text really did make life a lot easier, then.

He stared at the shirt, the bag, and then finally back at Epps. "So. Zero seven hundred?" he asked hesitantly, and Epps clasped his shoulder briefly and grinned.

"That's the spirit! See you tomorrow, kid."

And Samuel Witwicky could add a PT uniform to his closet.

* * * *

4.

* * * *

The fourth thing Samuel Witwicky brought back from Diego Garcia could have been mistaken for holiday photos from a trip to Hawaii if it hadn't been for the giant, alien robots.

It had been predictable, too. The beaches were perfect, the weather was perfect, the water was perfect, the lagoon was perfect, and someone had found Mikaela a bikini. Perfect. If it hadn't been for his permanent scrapes and bruises from PT, Sam would have strongly suspected that he was still lying dead in some Primus-forsaken piece of desert and this was actually Heaven. In which case he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to go back, because this place had Mikaela in a bikini, and Bumblebee was there, and Optimus Prime was alive and, uh, sort-of-breathing, or whatever giant, alien robots actually did.

But he had bruises and scrapes and a sore shoulder from that morning's close combat training with the NEST team, so he decided that he probably wasn't dead but just very, very lucky, everything considered.

"The human fascination with water remains a mystery to me," Optimus Prime commented at his side as they watched Mikaela target Epps with a beach ball – and where they had found that beach ball wasn't something Sam was going to ask, but he figured it was probably related to the same magical place that had made a bikini for his girlfriend materialize.

The ball hit its target and bounced against the Sergeant's head to land in the water. A moment later Mikaela followed with a squeal as Epps resolutely picked her up and dropped her in the water, laughing all the while, and Sam could sort of see the Autobot's point. For a species that wasn't intended to survive in water, they really did like it a lot.

"I guess it's a human thing," Sam admit. "Being silly sometimes. I mean, you do get people getting hurt or drowning and stuff sometimes, but it helps cool us down when it's hot, and it's fun. Which I guess is sort of the main reason."

Optimus nodded. "All species have their games. They do not always necessarily have straight-forward reasons behind them."

Sam grinned. "Even Cybertronians?"

An amused sound followed that Sam had learned to recognise as laughter. "Even us, Samuel."

He didn't elaborate and Sam didn't ask and they fell silent again as they returned their attention to the beach. Annabelle Lennox, with a toddler-sized plastic shovel and bucket, was building sandcastles with her father near the edge of the water, and a look around revealed her mother in the water with Mikaela and the others, and Sam was pretty sure that _everyone_ was out today. If there was anything more than a skeleton crew operating their small base, he would have been surprised, and he wondered for a moment if there was some holiday he had forgotten. He didn't think so but the days tended to flow together and he had to really think to even remember what day of the week it was. He was pretty pleased with that, actually.

It hadn't even been that busy recently, either. 'Con activity was way down, with Megatron and Starscream and whoever off to lick their wounds, and the only time the NEST team had been called away in the two months or so that he had been there had been for a week and revealed nothing more than a long-abandoned Decepticon base. They were still ready to roll out at a moment's notice – NEST, Sam had quickly realised, did not believe in normal hours, and he had learned to be _grateful_ for his and Mikaela's house, because he had gotten up at least one morning to realise that Will and Epps and the Autobots had been up all night because of something that could potentially have been 'Con activity – and he was still sort of amazed sometimes at how they could snap from 'Con-slagging aft-kicking to absolute kids in ten seconds flat. It probably helped that they never knew when the next attack would come and so took their free time when they could, and he desperately pushed away the sudden memory of the names he had seen of the people who had been out there fighting an alien war and who would never come home again. NEST was elite, but they were also right there with the Autobots in the line of fire.

Someone showed up with an inflatable alligator and Sam forced a grin and snapped a photo with the tiny camera someone had dug out of Sector Seven's storage. Lightweight, lots of memory, and waterproof. It had found a permanent place in Sam's pocket and he made a point of slowly filling it with memories because an uncomfortably real part of him knew that the recent silence after the Battle of Egypt would never last, and never lost the nagging fear that those photos might be all he had left one day.

"I am not sure if it is a comfort that it becomes... easier in time," Optimus said quietly. "To see comrades lost in battle is not something any being should have to become accustomed to."

Sam took a breath and it was just a bit unsteady. "I know. And I know it's not my fault and that they went to Egypt of their own free will and it's their job and all that, but I gave them those coordinates and I know it got you back to us, and I don't know what I'm supposed to think, because they seem to cope just fine and I still wake up sometimes and see Megatron's ugly face in my head."

He fell silent. The world around them kept moving, the muted sound of shouting, the sound of small waves and the rustle of leaves, and Sam kept watching, camera in hand.

"They are warriors," Optimus finally said. "It is their choice, and their right to choose it. We are grateful that they wish to fight a war at our side that by all rights should never have been brought to them at all."

They were warriors and Sam was not, and he knew that. He might train with them, might slowly learn to keep up and not end up puking at the side of the road because what Lennox and his officers considered good shape was absolutely insane to him, but he wasn't in their situation, hadn't been put through however many years of special forces training as most of them had been, and he had never been trained to deal with war like this.

"Their names," Optimus continued quietly, "will be remembered."

Because his cheerful, yellow guardian was older than the human race for all that Sam knew, and 'Bee was still the youngest of the Cybertronian lot, and he wouldn't be surprised if Optimus Prime actually would carry those names with him even when the human race was gone again, from war or stupidity or something else entirely. It was a very Optimus thing to do.

"My photos probably won't last that long," Sam admitted. "But they're still nice to have."

Mikaela with Ratchet, using a reluctant Bumblebee's check-up as medical practice for her. The Twins caught in the middle of a wild escape from a hangar and Sideswipe, who had not appreciated whatever they had just done, and no one had figured out just what that had been, but the chase had been the entertainment of the week. His parents, before they went back home, and his father talking with Optimus Prime, and sure, he could never show anyone outside of their close little Top Secret circle, and the photos would be transferred to 'Bee and the originals thoroughly deleted, but they were still there and 'Bee would be able to call them back up immediately for him, and he liked that. Needed it, even, stuck between two worlds and unwilling to let go of either one. The photos made it a bit easier, and he was all in for that.

"Bumblebee enjoys them, too," Optimus agreed and sounded distinctively amused. "I believe the image of the Twins after Ironhide decided a sound reprimand was in order is a favourite."

Reprimand, Ironhide style, which had involved violence and quite a few words in Cybertronian that Ratchet's so-called 'language course' had covered in graphic detail, and Sam had laughed until his stomach hurt from that one.

It was nice to be reminded again that not all memories had to be bittersweet, that sometimes life was actually _normal_, or as normal as it ever got around giant robots, and Sam toyed absently with the small camera.

The Autobots usually didn't like sand or water, but he could probably bribe 'Bee with a wash and a wax, and Arcee for some reason didn't seem to mind too much, either, and the Twins could be convinced if you insulted them right, and with a little planning it might actually be possible...

Sam grinned and turned to Optimus, because even alien robots needed a break sometimes, and a co-conspirator like that would open up for all sorts of interesting new possibilities.

Two hours later, he had his new masterpiece.

Two days and some applied technological magic later, and the base woke up to a life-size copy on one hangar wall of 'Autobots on the Beach', because that Sector Seven camera had awesome resolution and NEST had creative people.

No one ever did fess up to that one, and Sam didn't talk, and if a few of the techies looked a bit too smug, no one said anything about that, either. The mural, Lennox cheerfully concluded in those exact words, was slagging good for morale, and stay it would.

Ironhide grumbled. Sideswipe grumbled.

But the mural stayed.

* * * *

5.

* * * *

The fifth thing Samuel Witwicky was almost sad he couldn't bring back with him, but just almost. There wasn't really anything he could use it for back home, no matter how cool it was to have his own NEST uniform, and they were supposed to be a secret organization, and so it stayed where it was, safely packed away in a storage room.

Still, it _was_ pretty cool. It was pretty much identical to the ones the human part of NEST wore, with the exceptions of a few insignias that now adorned Will's uniform as well, and the size was a perfect fit.

Someone had obviously put a lot of thought into it, and Sam strongly suspected it wasn't just the Autobots.

_You're going to get into trouble again sooner or later_, Will had said and patted his shoulder. _You might as well get the clothes for it._

No one had mentioned that the uniform would make him harder to single out at a distance, either, and Sam preferred not to think too much about that. He had sort of learned to deal with the thought that he would never, ever have a normal life again, that the slagging 'Cons had transmitted his name and photo across the globe and started a worldwide manhunt for him, but there were still parts of that brand new life of his that he preferred not to think too hard about. The fact that he was going to be a target for the rest of his life was something he was still coming to grips with.

There were the standard NEST markings, joined by the Autobot insignia - _Cybertronian, he was a human Autobot now_, and the thought made his stomach surge again - and his name was there as well, in both English and Cybertronian that Optimus had translated for him.

Pockets, lots of pockets, bits of equipment he didn't even know what to do with, and a full set of body-armour that still felt insanely heavy to him when he lifted it, much less tried it on.

A Cybertronian symbol where the NEST rank would have been – different from Will's, Sam could see that much, at least – and Optimus had called it an old Cybertronian rank and left it at that, and Sam hadn't pushed.

He had folded the uniform and placed it carefully in a box as Mikaela watched, and she had gripped his hand tightly and said nothing. It was weird, going home, even when he knew he would be back again, and even staring at the C-17 that waited silently on the runway. Bumblebee would be in alt-mode for the duration of the flight, and it wouldn't be overly comfortable for its human passengers, either. It was still a military transport, after all, but everything considered, Sam was happy as long as he could bring 'Bee with him.

"Three months, Sam. Any longer, and we're going to think you're in trouble and come haul your aft back for you." Will, carrying one of Sam's bags and handing it to one of the pilots to be safely packed away. The PT uniform was packed away somewhere in his luggage, because Ironhide had agreed to train him when he got back only on the condition that he kept up that morning workout, and he had put himself through too much misery to give up on that now.

Sam grinned, because while there was a knot in his stomach at the thought of leaving, he was also going _home_, to his parents and Frankie and Mojo and an almost-normal life for a while, and he had been away for long enough to be able to appreciate it.

"Maybe I'll run away and join a travelling circus. Or go to college again. Same thing, I mean, except for the travelling thing."

"Three months," Will drawled. "And believe me, we'll make an embarrassing scene in the process."

"Yes, sir," Sam confirmed, still grinning, and it was only half a joke. William Lennox might not be a Major anymore, but he still wore Autobot rank – it put him, Optimus Prime had explained with some amusement, around the level of a human army Major in the NEST hierarchy – and NEST readily acknowledged that. In their isolated world, it didn't matter what Will's court-martial might decide on. Epps was formally in charge of the human team now, but Will was still the one who made the final decisions, and no one was going to say a word about that to anyone outside their little group.

That brought more thoughts he wasn't ready to deal with - _how are you going to haul me back when you can't set foot in the States anymore?_ and _why are you all doing this for me, I'm just a kid, just a stupid dork, I'm nothing special_ - and he forced himself to focus on Mikaela as she entered the plane.

"You okay?" she asked quietly as Will disappeared outside again and they were alone for a moment.

Sam took a breath. "Yeah," he answered, just as quietly. "I'm fine, it's just... giant, alien robots, you know?"

Mikaela nodded. "Giant, alien robots," she repeated, their catch-all for whatever weirdness had left them feeling overwhelmed at the given moment. "And you wonder why it's all happening to you, and if you're ever going to stop seeing Big and Ugly in your dreams, and if you'll ever not have nightmares about 'Bee or Optimus dying for you."

She knew him, knew him almost as well as he knew himself sometimes, and he nodded mutely and took her hand as she leaned closer.

"I love you, Sam Witwicky, and you're not getting rid of me that easily," she murmured. "You'll be fine. We'll be fine. 'Bee will be fine. NEST will keep an eye on things and if anything changes, they'll let 'Bee know immediately. I feel bad about leaving, too, but going home sometimes is healthy. We'll be back in a few months. We'll be fine for that long. Just you and me and 'Bee and whatever poor agents they send to play bodyguards for us."

She paused and he could feel her smirk against his ear and her words were almost drowned out by the sound of 'Bee's engines as she continued.

"Plus, you look really, really good in that uniform."

He would have made a smart-ass comment back, or joked that 'Bee might get jealous, but the engine sound was overpowering in the cargo hold and so he settled for a grin.

He still had a lot to handle, but for now, the world was all right again.


End file.
